Winter Is Coming
by kittykatloren
Summary: Her sheer incomprehensibility was infuriating. What could have possessed her to wake up so early, stand out in the cold and the snow, just to dance for him? FE6 Fuuin no Tsurugi; Percival/Lalam aka Lalum oneshot. For DarkBlaziken.


**A/N: **My first FE6 fanfic! I don't know FE6 as well as I know the other games, but the characters are still great. This is written for **DarkBlaziken**, who requested a Percival/Cecilia or Percival/Lalam fic. I like both pairings - Percival/Cecilia more actually - but in reading the characters' supports, I got much more inspiration from the Percival/Lalam supports. She said she'd come dance for him every day! So anyway, that's where this came from. I'm still thinking about Percival/Cecilia ideas - possibly post-imprisonment hurt/comfort style, since she was beaten by Zephiel and all. Enjoy and please review!**  
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**Words: **1,151  
**Characters:** Percival, Lalam  
**Time: **Anytime at the end of autumn  
**Genre:** Friendship

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

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His eyes opened blearily that day in a bitter protest against the sheer cold. Just by the feel of the air that permeated his tent, he could tell there was something different about today. A thin shadow lined the bottom edge of his tent. Etrurian snow, a commonality, but nevertheless inconvenient in a war. He thought vaguely of Lalam. She'd been outside his tent every morning to dance, but he supposed now he wouldn't have quite as much inclination to smile as he started the day.

"General P-P-Percival?"

Her voice was shaky and pale, like a ghost.

Without even thinking, Percival stumbled to the door and tore it open. Lalam was standing there with little more than a glorified rag draped across her shoulders for extra warmth. Her feet were buried in the snow, her ankles blue with cold. Her stomach was still bare, and her skinny arms quivered as she held them out wide in an attempt to begin her dance. Her lips seemed frozen when she tried to smile.

"G-good morning - "

"Lalam!" Percival roared, then remember the early hour and lowered his voice. "Lalam, what are you doing out here?"

"I w-wanted to dance for y-you… like I always d-do…"

A gust of bitter wind tore through the air. Lalam stumbled and gasped. Percival caught her and pulled her into his tent, quickly closing the flap both to ward the cold and any curious eyes. It was hardly warmer in the tent, but it was all they had.

"Lalam, you're frozen," Percival said, oddly irritable. "Why in all Elibe would you come out here in the snow? Someone as small as you – the cold could kill you!"

She pouted in the face of his burning glare. "All I wanted to do was d-dance for you… you don't have to be so mean about it!"

But despite her valiant attempt at appearing annoyed, she still looked so pitiful there, her skin patchy with cold and her cheeks flushed red with windburn and chill. Percival sighed and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, forcing her to sit. He grabbed his blanket from his cot and tossed it over her. Her little hands clutched it tightly around herself. Thin-soled shoes poked out from under the edge, and what he could see of her feet was blue with a dangerous chill. Despite himself, Percival removed her slippers and began to rub some life back into her toes.

"You're as cold as ice," Percival muttered. "Don't ever go out in this kind of cold again without proper clothes. We're lucky this is first cold spell. It'll only get worse as winter wears on."

"Your blanket is warm," she said cheerfully, wiggling her newly reawakened toes, which were slowly returning to a more natural color of pink. "And it smells like you."

He lingered on the rough calluses on the soles of her feet. She wore such useless, cute little shoes, he thought; worthless things against hard earth and frozen air. She used to dance on the streets, he remembered, before Lord Douglas adopted her, before she and Percival ever met. He would never have allowed her to do that, if he'd known. A girl with her blithe temperament did not belong to the mercy of the streets.

Once her feet were sufficiently warm, he took her hands, cupping them in his own and flinching when her icy fingertips brushed the skin of his inner wrists. Her sheer incomprehensibility was infuriating. What could have possessed her to wake up so early, stand out in the cold and the snow, just to dance for him?

Even after her hands were warm, she still shivered violently every now and then. Percival sighed again. "Come here, then," he said at last, opening his arms. The sudden delight on her face was almost enough to drive away the guilt in his heart, but not quite. His conscience still protested even as his heart smiled. She leapt into his arms and snuggled into his chest. He could feel the warmth in her cheeks – the only skin of hers that was warm at all – through his thin linen shirt. Ignoring the buzz in his ears, Percival rubbed her shoulders bracingly, struck suddenly by how small she really was. She was not made for war, the constant travel, the bland rationing, the terror of battles. All had taken their toll on her, and she was too thin, too cold, too fragile. Could even the streets could have done this to her?

"Lalam, you have to take care of yourself." His lips were astonishingly close to her soft hair, tied in its neat buns with its colorful, childish ribbons on the top of her head. "You don't belong in an army,"

"But I belong in _this_ army. Because _you're_ here, and Father, and - "

"This isn't a life for you! War is brutal. Merciless. It'll tear you apart from the inside if you somehow manage to escape being torn apart on the outside by madmen with blood in their ears and lies in their heart. You haven't seen anything yet. You shouldn't have to."

"But you have," she said quietly. Percival paused, and she took a deep breath, and continued. "You have seen all those things, haven't you?"

It was a moment before he answered her. "Yes."

"Then I should too. I should… see what you see. I'm not a child."

"You sometimes have the sense of one," Percival muttered as he began rubbing her arms again. "You must buy some winter clothes. It'll only get colder from here."

"I will. I promise."

Slowly her shivering began to cease. Percival reluctantly let her slide out of his arms. After a stretch and a yawn reminiscent of a sleepy cat, Lalam beamed at him and bounced to the tent's entrance, Percival's blanket still draped around her shoulders and enveloping her body almost entirely. "Can I keep this until I find some warm clothes? It's really, really cozy, General Percival! You're so lucky!"

The flash of somber determination she had shown before was once again hidden by her almost disconcertingly sunny disposition. Percival smiled at her. "Of course, Lalam. Keep it as long as like."

"Thank you!" she said. "But I'll give it back tonight – I don't want _you_ to be cold!"

She slipped out of his tent, and Percival followed her with his eyes, watching her kick back footfulls of melting snow with the simple unconcern of a child at play, blissfully ignorant of the questioning glances from the other early risers in their group.

In his heart, he wondered if that same ignorance would protect her or expose her to the coming war and the coming winter.


End file.
